The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (25 page)

Voices rose in whispers, and Savannah raised her hands to stave off the impending chatter. “Before we continue with this,” she said. “I feel we ought to pray together. There’s something much more evil in this than we’d realized, and it sounds as though it’s also much more dangerous than we realized.”

As they bowed their heads and Savannah spoke, Cooper’s mind lingered on Edward and Ms. Donna’s conclusion, that someone was hired to kill Sylvia Cassel. She thought back to the people she’d spoken with thus far, concerning the teacher and her past: Abbi Merken, Harry Wintersteen, Lewis Wilburson. Of the three of them, Abbi seemed the most forthright; Harry, the most devoted to Sylvia in life; and Lewis, the most dependent on Sylvia. Harry was creepy, but he did seem loyal. When Cooper had visited with Lewis, on the other hand, she’d felt he was hiding something, that there was more to the story than what he was willing to say. Maybe it was time to talk to him again.

Just as the prayer ended in a chorus of Amens, Cooper decided to pay Lewis Wilburson another visit. This time, she’d find out what he was hiding.

13

By the time supper rolled around, Cooper was still so full that she skipped the meal and spent the evening parked in front of her computer. After everyone had left, she’d spent the afternoon thinking about Lewis Wilburson, who he was, what he’d said and what he might have been hiding.

She closed her eyes and pictured that first conversation with Lewis. He’d acted strangely as he spoke of Sylvia’s family’s money and Sylvia’s job. Whatever he was hiding had to be connected to one of those things . . . or both. Either there was another side to Sylvia’s life, linked to her family or career, or else there was simply more to the story than Lewis had let on.

So Cooper started by searching the Internet for any mention of the Cassel family in Detroit, since, according to Lewis, that’s where Sylvia grew up.

What she found was a list of charities to which the Cassel family had donated in years past, along with articles about the hospital wing, library and children’s center bearing the Cassel name. She also stumbled on the obituary for Sylvia’s parents, which was run in a Detroit paper.

“You really did come from money,” Cooper said to herself, amazed at the vast wealth of the family. In the obituary, Sylvia was named as the only surviving relative. “You inherited everything, and Lewis squandered it all away.” Cooper shook her head. “How could anyone gamble that much money?”

The obituary was long and involved, and in it were several pictures of the Cassels at various social functions and family gatherings. One image in particular caught Cooper’s eye. It was the Cassel family at the same red-brick house as was in the photo at Sylvia’s memorial. Cooper studied the picture—the home, the yard, and the water in the background. “Must have been nice to grow up there.”

She closed the article and opened a new search window, moving on to the next item that seemed to make Lewis uncomfortable: Sylvia’s former place of employment. “Coughlin Prep School,” she muttered aloud.

Cooper repeated Lewis’s description. “Fancy place for the well-to-do . . .” She typed the school name into the search box. “It would take someone well-to-do to hire a killer.”

She followed a link to the school’s website, scouring over the photographs on the homepage. The institution looked more like a historical site than a school, with tall, stone edifices, broad steps, thick pillars and marble statues that dwarfed the unsmiling, uniformed schoolchildren. She read about the school’s founding and history and the legacy of its students. It had a proud tradition, but nothing that might make Lewis uncomfortable, unless he was uncomfortable with all that wealth, which very well could have been the case.

Cooper continued her hunt for information, scrolling through the other search results. Most linked to pages on the school’s official website or to news stories about school sport events, theater productions or famous students. Cooper directed her attention to a series of news articles, hoping that something might jump out.

And jump something did. On the third page of the search results, she found a very different sort of news story. The headline read, “Mobster Vanishes as Police Close In.”

“Hmmm,” Cooper hummed as she clicked the link. “What does that have to do with the prep school?”

Alleged crime boss Johnathan Edgar Borreo II disappeared only hours before local police arrived at his personal residence to arrest him yesterday afternoon. His whereabouts are unknown, although officials believe he left the state and is in hiding.

Borreo has long been the subject of an investigation into Detroit’s organized crime, but officials have not yet obtained sufficient evidence to lead to his arrest. After reviewing evidence and hearing testimony at 1 p.m. yesterday, Judge Lionel Pritchet signed an arrest warrant. Borreo was not at his home, and those connected to his work are refusing to answer questions regarding his whereabouts.

Borreo’s 8-year-old son has also disappeared. Officials at Coughlin Preparatory School claim he left the school at the end of the day, as usual, but failed to show up the next morning.

The police are asking that anyone with information regarding John Borreo’s whereabouts call the information hotline. All information will be kept confidential.

Cooper reread the article, vaguely aware that the doorbell downstairs was ringing. The story was from six years ago, the year Lewis and Sylvia left Detroit and came to Richmond. That couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

She was mulling over what it might mean, when Maggie shouted from the base of the stairs, “Cooper, you have a guest!”

After a moment’s hesitation at the screen, Cooper left her computer and descended to the main house, information from the article still echoing in her mind. Johnathan Edgar Borreo II. The name was completely alien to her, but she wondered if Lewis knew who this gangster was. Maybe Sylvia knew him, too. After all, Johnathan Borreo’s son had attended Coughlin Prep while Sylvia was teaching there, and what was it Officer Brayden had said about Sylvia? All students had her at one time or another.

That made her think about Will Brayden. She tried to focus. Was it possible that Lewis was involved in something, and Sylvia wasn’t the original target? Cooper thought of Will’s aftershave. It smelled so good. No, she had to concentrate. Maybe Sylvia died because of Lewis’s mistakes. Maybe her death was meant to send him a message.

It would certainly explain why he was hiding something.

Will was probably a good kisser.

Cooper shook her head.
No more thinking about Will,
she told herself.
A woman is dead. Her ex is hiding something. That’s more important than Will’s aftershave . . . or him being a good kisser . . . or how good-looking he is.

Cooper entered the living room, her thoughts leaping from Sylvia to Lewis to Will. It took a moment for her guest’s face to register.

“Ms. Donna?” Cooper asked, not quite believing her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Maggie arched her brows in surprise. “Cooper! That’s no way to welcome Ms. Donna into our home.” She sounded as if she were scolding a teenager.

Cooper ignored her mother’s tone; she had no idea what she was dealing with. “You’re right, Mama, but the question still stands.”

“I was wondering if I could speak to you . . . privately,” Ms. Donna replied, not at all deterred by Cooper’s manner. “It’s important.”

Cooper walked Ms. Donna into the kitchen and looked to make sure Maggie and Earl were out of earshot. “Now, Ms. Donna,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, but . . . But I wasn’t sure who else to talk to.”

“I’m listening.”

Ms. Donna fidgeted with her purse. “I might need to leave town.”

“What?”

“I . . . uh . . . I don’t think it’s safe for me here, and I think it might be best if I leave. However, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m admitting guilt, and I thought you’d be the one to talk to.”

“Ms. Donna, if you leave Richmond, there’ll be no doubt of your guilt, if there’s any doubt now.” Cooper was getting tired of the games, but she played along. “Why do you think it’s not safe?”

Ms. Donna looked over her shoulder into the living room, and then took a step closer to Cooper. Her voice was low and unsteady. “Someone was in my house.”

Cooper gave her a look. “Really? Let me guess. Somebody stole all the stolen goods from you.”

“I’m serious!” Ms. Donna snapped, and Cooper suddenly saw the fear in the woman’s eyes. “I’d just pulled into the driveway of my rental. Before I could get out of the car, a movement caught my eye. It was a person . . . inside the house . . . passing by the bay window. I could only see him because the blinds over the back window were open. When he walked by, I had a clear view of his silhouette.”

Cooper grabbed Ms. Donna’s shoulders. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. The worst part is . . .” She paused, wetting her dry lips. “He stopped while I was looking at him, and I swear he looked at me. Right at me. He disappeared in the direction of the front door. I was worried he was going to come out to get me, so I pulled out and drove away as fast as I could.”

Ms. Donna sniffed and her hands shook. Cooper pulled her into a hug, her own heart breaking. The woman may have been a con artist and a thief, but right now she was simply terrified.

For a solid minute, Ms. Donna hugged her back without saying a word. Then she pulled away and wiped her eyes.

“Do you have any idea who it was?” Cooper asked, her voice gentle.

“I don’t know for certain, but I have my guess. If your Sylvia was killed by a professional, the killer was certainly able to find out who I am . . . that I was the one at the church that night. I don’t know how they found out, but with the right resources, anything is possible.”

“Why would they come after you?”

“I’m a witness, Cooper. I’m the only witness.”

“But you didn’t see anything, not really.”

“I saw the sketch from the copier. I saw the killer leave by the front office door. And they don’t know for sure what else I saw. I can’t stay in town.”

Cooper processed the information as quickly as she could. Her first concern was the safety of her own family. “Did anyone follow you here?”

“Not a chance. I made sure of it. If there’s two things I can do it’s jimmy a lock and spot a tail.”

Cooper began to pace. “Good. It’s gonna be okay, Ms. Donna.”

“You understand why I have to leave town.”

Cooper shook her head. “If I were a master criminal with contacts and resources, I’d expect you to run scared. The first thing I’d do is station some people on the main roads out of town . . . to watch for you.”

Ms. Donna shuddered. “I hadn’t thought of that. What do I do?”

Cooper had an idea, but she wasn’t sure she liked it. “You could . . . stay here . . .”

Ms. Donna looked just as surprised at hearing the suggestion as Cooper felt offering it. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Well, you could. We’ll need to talk to my folks. They’ll need to know the truth, of course.”

Ms. Donna hesitated. “I don’t rightly know what to say to that, Cooper.”

“You could say you’ll give it a try.”

After a moment’s consideration, Ms. Donna straightened, drew in a deep breath and replied, “Then I’ll give it a try. Let’s go talk to your mama.”

Together, they went to the living room, where Maggie and Earl watched television with Grammy sitting on the couch between them.

“Mama, would you mind muting that?” Cooper asked, and Maggie immediately turned down the volume.

“Aw!” Grammy exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “It was just gettin’ to the good part!”

“I know, Grammy, but this is important.” Cooper glanced at Ms. Donna—whose face was now stoic and unreadable—and then went on to explain all that had happened . . . the pertinent details, at least. She told her family about the thefts, the murder and how the Bible study
assumed
Ms. Donna fit into the equation. As they listened patiently, she related Ms. Donna’s predicament and why she couldn’t leave town.

When she finished, Cooper expected her folks to take a few minutes to absorb the information. It had taken Cooper longer than that.

To her surprise, however, when she finished talking, Earl stood almost immediately. He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you say, Magnolia?” he asked his wife. “If we’re gonna make up the guest room, don’t you suppose we ought to get to it sooner rather than later?”

Maggie hopped up, kissed him on the cheek and headed for the linen closet. “Yes, we ought to. I’ll get the bed made. Earl, you make sure Ms. Donna’s got a set of towels.”

And as if she hadn’t heard a word of it, Grammy grunted, “Now, if everyone’ll leave me in peace, I’ll get back to watching my program!”

Cooper had always been proud to be a part of her family, but tonight she was reminded of how truly blessed she was. Earl and Maggie didn’t care what Ms. Donna had done. All they knew was that Ms. Donna needed help and that they could give it. That was enough. And Grammy—dear Grammy—didn’t really care as long as she could carry on with her usual routine. Cooper couldn’t help but smile.

Ms. Donna, on the other hand, stared after Earl and Maggie, her mouth open in surprise. “Are they serious?”

Cooper put an arm around Ms. Donna’s shoulders. “Ms. Donna, welcome to the Lee family.”

While Maggie and Earl set up the guest room, Cooper showed Ms. Donna around the house. Maggie loaned their guest a nightgown; Earl double-checked the lock on her bedroom door, for Ms. Donna’s peace of mind; and Grammy wished everyone a pleasant night’s sleep before disappearing into her own room.

When Ms. Donna was comfortably in bed, Cooper went to her parents’ room and rapped on the door.

Her father’s voice called, “Come on in.”

Cooper entered, closing the door gently behind her. Her folks were already sitting in bed, reading by the light of their nightstand lamps. Earl read his Bible, while Maggie thumbed through a cookbook.